


the sins of the father upon the children

by revolutionaryfury



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: "Uncle" Courf's son, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Enjolras and Grantaire's Daughter, F/M, Gay Parents, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, POV Original Character, Past Drug Use, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2013-12-01
Packaged: 2018-01-03 02:48:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1064851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/revolutionaryfury/pseuds/revolutionaryfury
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daddy says that he was scared that he would fail me or something, so he did the only think he could think of. Other than the nasty habits, that would be staying out of my life as much as possible. </p><p>Seriously. </p><p>He still does it. I can show him a straight-A report card and he’ll just stare at it for a minute before muttering, “Good job, Luce.” </p><p>Sometimes I wonder…does he even love me?</p>
            </blockquote>





	the sins of the father upon the children

_My name is Lucy-June Enjolras, and I’m three years old. I am sitting on the floor, on my butterfly carpet, making a tower out of blocks. It’s hard work, because it keeps falling over, but I’m determined…like Daddy. Daddy says that whenever his block tower falls over, he just looks at it calmly, instead of getting mad, and figures out the best way to put it back together again. That’s what I’m doing. It topples over again, and I calmly collect my blocks. One of them is under the couch, and I fish it out. I can hear screaming in the other room – that’s from Daddy – and shouting – that’s from Papa – but I ignore it. My block tower is the biggest problem in my life right now, but I think I've got it figured out. See, if I stack my blocks one on top of the other, the tower will get too high; it doesn't have support. What it needs is a structure. So I place two blocks next to each other, and then two more on top of those, until I've used up all my blocks. The tower stays upright._

_Papa comes storming in, swaying on his feet. He sees my block tower and glares, as if I've done something horrible. His eyes are angry and dark, and he raises a hand and smashes my block tower, knocking blocks everywhere._

_Daddy rushes in, and sees me sitting there silently, surrounded by blocks. He looks at Papa and begins screaming anew. “You worthless drunk! You could have hurt her!” He picks me up and strokes my hair._

_“I need a drink,” Papa mutters and leaves the house._

_“Daddy,” I say. “Papa’s block tower needs support.”_

_As tears begin rushing down his face, I think I hear him say, “Yes it does…and I don’t think I can give it to him.”_

XXX

So here I am, fourteen years old. Most girls my age should be going out on dates, worrying about grades, and yelling at their parents. But I don’t have time for dates. I guess I worry about my grades plenty, ‘cause I spend most of my time in my room. A lot of homework gets done that way. And the yelling part…yeah, my parents do most of that yelling for me. But not at me, oh, no. Never at me. Always at each other.  
See, my father – well, one of them – is an alcoholic. It’s manageable, because he’s never violent when he’s drunk, and he doesn’t go streaking or defacing public property or anything like that. It wouldn’t even really be a problem if it wasn’t for Daddy. Apparently, Papa has a very long history of alcoholism, leading back to high school when he and Daddy first met.

 

It just leads to what Daddy calls “senseless self-deprecation.” Papa has always had really low self-esteem. He’s had a history of depression and self-harm and substance abuse, because he lived a pretty horrible childhood. His father was violent and his mother ignored everything that wasn’t obsessive housecleaning. His sister, my Aunt Aurélie, was his best friend when he a kid; they looked out for each other. But a brother and sister couldn’t always protect each other, and one day Aunt Aurélie found solace in drugs. She OD’d three weeks later.  
I think that’s part of why Papa is so messed up. He feels guilty for not being there when Aunt Aurélie needed him the most. It wasn’t his fault, though. Daddy has tried to tell Papa that a million and one times, but it doesn’t do any good.

 

Papa got better for a while there in college. He and Daddy got together, and for a few years (from ages twenty-two to twenty-five, Daddy told me) he was happy and his drinking was cut back. He didn’t cut himself, and he stayed away from drugs. Three whole years.

 

You know, sometimes I feel like this whole mess with Papa is my fault. Or at least a big part of it.

 

See, Daddy and Papa had been talking about children for months before they decided to adopt me. My birth mother had died, and my birth father was abusive, not that I remember any of it. I was only one when the system took me away from him.  
Papa and Daddy adopted me soon after. Apparently I look quite a bit like both of them with my curly black hair (like Papa) and blue eyes (like Daddy). I’ve always considered them my real parents.

 

The reason that I think a lot of this is my fault is because when I turned two, Papa started again with the drugs and the self-harm and the excess drinking. It only started up again because I came along. Daddy says that he was scared that he would fail me or something, so he did the only think he could think of. Other than the nasty habits, that would be staying out of my life as much as possible.  
Seriously. He still does it. I can show him a straight-A report card and he’ll just stare at it for a minute before muttering, “Good job, Luce.”

 

Sometimes I wonder…does he even love me?

 

I mean, it’s a horrible thing to say, and I keep it to myself, but sometimes I just think it.

 

There’s a knock at the door, and I move to open it. It’s Daddy. “Lucy-June, I’d like to talk to you,” he says. His tone is severe.

 

I don’t think I did anything wrong, I think, putting my now-finished math homework in my backpack. “Yeah, Daddy?”

 

“Do you know why you were named Lucy-June?”

 

I wasn’t expecting that question. “Um…no. Why?”

 

“Lucy was your Aunt Aurélie’s middle name,” he says, like it hurts. “Grantaire was insistent that we use it somehow. He didn’t want to use Aurélie as your name, because I think it hurt too much. But Lucy was fine. You know, it’s odd, but you look just like her,” he muses. “The resemblance is uncanny, really.”

 

I feel like someone is sitting on chest. “Oh. Well.” I can’t think of what else to say. Maybe that’s why Papa has so much trouble talking to me. Because he sees his sister every time he looks at me.

 

“June was the month I proposed to him,” Daddy says dreamily. “It was beautiful. We were sitting by the river on a picnic blanket – red and white checked – and his head was resting on my shoulder. I just couldn’t help myself. I blurted ‘Marry me.’ And he looked up at me, so confused. His curls were all disheveled; they usually were. ‘What?’ he said, and he looked so hopeful. I said, ‘Marry me. I don’t have a ring, but I couldn’t wait to ask you. Please, Grantaire, marry me.’ And you know what he did? He leaned into my ear and whispered, ‘Yes. I can’t wait to spend my life with you, Apollo.’ And that night, we –”

 

“Whoa, Daddy!” I cry, cutting him off. “I don’t want to hear that part.”

 

He laughs. “Sorry. I got caught up in the memory.”

 

I smile, but then quickly frown. I figure I’ll ask the question now. “Daddy, does Papa love me?”

 

He frowns. “More than anything. Why do you ask?”

 

“He doesn’t like looking at me. He-he barely talks to me.” All of those stupid fears rise to the surface, and I feel like I’m drowning. Especially when I see Papa standing in the doorway, looking as if someone just punched him in the gut. Suckered. Shocked.

 

"Luce, do you really think I don’t love you?” he asks.

 

And that’s it. I’m tired of bottling all of this up. “Yes,” I whisper. “You barely look at me, you’re drunk all the time, and you two are always fighting. You never ask me how my life is. High school is a really important time in a kid’s life, and I’m scared. Being a freshman is hard! You two don’t know the names of my friends, or my favorite restaurant, or that Uncle Courf’s son asked me out yesterday!”

 

There’s a pause.

 

And then suddenly both of my fathers are hugging me and apologizing over and over. Papa says that he’s going to stop drinking completely, and kill Uncle Courf’s son while he’s at it. Daddy is telling Papa and I that he loves us, and then proceeds to list off the names of all of my friends and my favorite restaurant.

 

So he does know.

 

And Papa says that tomorrow I’m skipping school and just he and I are going to spend the day together.

 

And you know what?

 

I think life just might get better from here.


End file.
